


Affirmation

by Killermanatee



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Coping mechanism, Episode: s02e12 Through the Valley of Shadows, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pike just really needs a damn hug, Through the Valley of Shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee
Summary: After the events on Boreth, Christopher Pike finds it difficult to cope with what he has seen.





	Affirmation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IceCream_Junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCream_Junkie/gifts).



> Much love to my Pike/Tilly partner-in-crime IceCream_Junkie. Sorry, it took me a while to post this. <3

In the late hours of the night, when the future he was presented with on Boreth comes to haunt him, he wanders the quiet corridors. Anything to keep moving, to not sit still, to make use of his legs while he can.

Passing crewmembers keep their respectful distance and he can’t recall a single name, a reminder that this is not really _his_ ship, that these are not really _his_ people.

The vision of where his journey will irrevocably take him repeats again and again, tightening around his chest, twisting his gut, spinning the world around him.

Hand holding him against a viewport, he pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a few deep breaths. He repeats the words drilled into him.

Service. Sacrifice. Compassion. Love. Over and over, a mantra to keep the darkness at bay, to slow down his heartbeat.

It doesn’t quite work like it used to.

 

\---

 

A hand on his arm startles him, and who else would it be, but her? Sylvia Tilly bites her lip, but keeps her eyes on him. Her cheeks are flushed, yet her hand remains on his arm, warmth spreading into his shaking limbs.

Quietly she asks him if he’s okay, adds his rank to her question and that barrier between them makes the honesty die on his tongue.  

He isn’t okay. Wants to be. Doesn’t know if he can be.

Instead he smiles and assures her that he is, even though he desperately wants to press her up against the bulkhead, feeling her body thrum under his touch.  

She studies him and his cheeks hurt with his attempt to maintain the façade, and he wonders if she can see the crack, if that’s what flashes in her eyes before he turns to leave.

 

\---

 

In the solace of his quarters, he doesn’t count the glasses of whiskey. Usually he is quite controlled in his routines, keeping score of what he puts in his body, how to stay on track, how to lead by example. Sometimes he drinks to relax, or to enjoy dinner, occasionally to socialize.

Tonight he wants to forget what has yet to happen.

Later, so much later, he will blame the alcohol. He will tell himself that he didn’t know what he was doing, can’t be held accountable for how he acted in his inebriated state.

And he will know that he is lying to himself.

Because when his chime rings and he has a choice - the choice to assure her he is okay, the choice to say she is out of line, the choice to tell her to go to bed, the choice to not give in - he does none of those things.

 

\---

 

She talks when she is nervous, rambles when intimidated, fidgets when she is under pressure to prove herself. He has watched, listened, longed.

She lights up a room and doesn’t even know, doesn’t know that she shines and glows and makes him wish he was someone else.

Tonight she stands still, just past the threshold, the door closed behind her, accepting the silence that is all he can offer, and in the darkness of his quarters, she is as radiant as ever.

He can’t take that step, can’t be the one to initiate anything, can’t move across the lines between them.

So she does.

Despite her reddened cheeks and trembling lips, her arms come up around him, pressing him tightly against her body and he clings to her, buries his nose in her hair, holds on like she is exactly the life-line he’s needed.

 

\---

 

Later he will tell himself that he tried to resist, that he attempted to push her hands away as they unzipped his jacket, that she undressed herself.

And again, he will know better.

Because once they kiss, he can’t stop. He has to have all of her, feel and taste her and so he licks her chin and bites her neck and pulls her hips flush against his. In response, she moans and tugs on his clothes with self-assured hands.

Their legs bump into chairs, cause padds to clatter onto the floor, knock over the empty bottle. In the morning he will clean up this mess, will curse his reckless behavior, his slip in control, the inexcusable weakness.

But for now he only cares about making it to the bed, about peeling down her pants, unhooking her bra, cupping her breasts. He groans when she reaches into his underwear, and then his hands guide hers, pushing away the last of the boundaries between them.  

 

\---

 

The bedroom is dark, too dark, and he’s so sick of the darkness around him, the darkness in his mind. He wants to see her, more than just feel her nude body laid out underneath him. When he raises the lights to full illumination she squints for a second, face scrunched up in an innocence that makes his chest hurt, so he kisses her again, has to kiss her, and she mirrors his vigor instantly.

She won’t stop touching him, the skin-on-skin contact so real, so present, so immediate that he loses himself in it, loses himself in her.

Her hands are on his back, trail over his spine, outline his shoulder blades, stroke away the tension, dissolve it into nothing. What is left of him feels tender and raw, stripped entirely bare.

And he thinks that maybe he can be made new from here, that just maybe he can become someone else.

 

\---

 

Her legs around his hips urge him on, and he wants to tell her that he’s better than this, that he has quite a few skills she might enjoy, wants to raise an eyebrow and flirt and tease her from one climax to the next.

Instead she is wrapped around him, all soft warmth and passion and throaty moans.

Her lips trail along his jaw, she licks his neck, bites his earlobe, and her hands never stop moving. She envelops him, despite how he appears to be in charge. Appears to be. Because he is anything but.

As he accepts his impending climax, he is struck by the realization that he isn’t in charge of anything anymore. Not his path, not his future, not even this.

And then he is falling, every muscle tense as the release surges through him.

 

\---

 

He comes to rest cradled on top of her, the air pleasantly cool against his heated skin. Under his ear, her chest rises and falls, a motion like the sea, steady and strong and the beat of her heart in sync with his. Her fingers play with his hair, delicately, gently, her touch keeping the darkness at bay.

There is no room in his head for anything but her body, the life pulsing through her, spreading into his bones, reaching down to his core.

She won’t be able to stay; they won’t do this again. It is out of the question, but those consequences are for outside this room, a world that’s harsher and colder and so much more real.

So he gives in to the fantasy a little longer, content to lie to himself as he kisses her sternum, moving down her torso.

She sighs and arches up into his caress and he continues his exploration, smiling against her soft skin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to BlackVelvet42 and Klugtiger for betaing!


End file.
